Supercape

Can we use OOC spore attack (and IC spore attack) that I posted?

Spore Playing dead was an old childhood game Harper was good at. Fond memories of childhood games with parents. Now dead. That was a spike of pain in her heart, that memory. She scowled. And faced a flush of anger that flailed around looking for something to get angry at. Fortunately, the answer was at hand. Bad guys! Well, they were going to get spored! She got to her feet - unsteady - but two feet still planted. One shoe missing. And then a burst of grey-purple spores filled the air around her. "Goodnight, fellaz! She mumbled, still trying to clear the cobwebs from her own head!"

10! When its Spore turn she will stand up (move action) and Release a Spore Cloud (Fatigue 8 Cloud effect). She can control the area (1-40' radius) so getting as many bad guys as possible and as few good guys as possible! So thats Reflex DC 18 (Area) and then Fort DC 18 or 14 if they make reflex save (with evasion maybe kicking in!)

GM Dr North clutched the table to steady himself, taking deep breaths. Perhaps it was recovery from his frozen status. Perhaps it was anxiety. It would be unusual for someone so cold to sweat so badly. "Yes. Good. We need to alert... alert... alert well everyone really. A new bioweapon is on the market. Damn it! WEST was supposed to stop this. They will have my head on a ten foot pike for this. If only we had more resources..." A sly eye turned to Predator. "Or more superhero agents..." He dragged himself away from his probe. Dr North was a capable scientist, no doubt. But he had been chosen for his diplomatic abilities, trying to get countries and organisations to coorperate in stopping potentially catastrophic science experiments or strange natural events. "Are you any good with computers? This seems to be locked..." he said, fingers fumbling over the scientists computer keyboard...

Snakebite Cassandra raised an eyebrow that matched her smirk. "Nobody ever died.. yet!" But there was no way she could turn down a cosmic experience of this nature. She was about to touch the wheel when a final thought hit her. "Wait... this is not a gift, is it?" she asked. "A gift to spin the wheel?" And get me trapped here? Would they want me here... and if so would they try and trick me? If she had the assurance, she would spin the wheel. Her finger tips so close she could almost feel the magnificence that awaited...

Spore Harper nodded at the speaker voice, although inside she rolled her eyes. C'mon... boring! Perhaps her own, orphaned upbringing with an eccentric aunt had been to free. She wasn't used to orders. Or lectures. But she had enough wit to know that defiance would only beget defiance, and nobody would win. "What are the rules?" she said. A taskmaster liked rules. And liked enforcing them. "Or.. are there any rules? I mean, other than normal school rules like don't punch somebody in the face and don't get caught smoking in the sch-- I mean, dont smoke in the sch-- I mean, dont smoke?" Harper didn't smoke. She was far too health conscious. But she enjoyed the little barb at the tyrant at the other end of the speaker.

Spore Ears ringing. The taste of blood on lips. One shoe off. Ripped jeans now more ripped. Grazes. Bruises. Harper Hale had been too close to the explosion for comfort, even with a body now stuffed full of protective mutant fungus. The blast had taken her off her feat and left her stunned, on the floor. All she had been doing was buying a piece of outlandish jewellery for her outlandish aunt. To say thankyou for... for, well everything. Harper Hale was alive, breathing, happy and in Claremont. Life was not easy, but it wasn't bad. Not bad at all. And now, curse the luck of the universe, she was face down in the store, dazed, confused, and wondering what the hell happened. Something... crooks. Theft? Guns. Clubs. Her jangled brain was still trying to put the puzzle together. It was hard, but it was clearly a dangerous situation, and she had enough sense to stay down, on the floor, trying to scoop her brains back together before she did anything rash. But she was already preparing her body for a cloud of.. SPORES!

Thankyou!

GM "Nice..... mmmm....." came the spectral voice of Sunshade. Now that Jack knew what Sunshade looked like, he could spot the spirit, a shadow underneath the car, gorging himself on the supressed anger. And - yes, Jack could see it. The more the creature fed, the more solid it became. Hungry, it was like a faint haze. Feeding, the eyes and mouth grew orange, like burning embers, and the flesh of the thing - it became solid. "Get lost!" screamed the woman at Jack, and took her anger of him out on her husband, smacking him right on the nose. There was an awful crunch - breaking bone, tearing cartilidge, and the man started bleeding profusely. "Karen..." he said, trying to stay cool. "Please, don't hit me...."

Snakebite "A little bit of your life? Ah...." It was certainly pause for thought. "I am all for pleasant feelings, and you know, for doing my part to keep the wheels of the cosmos turning. But life is not something to be discarded too easily..." She raised an eyebrow at the Yeti. A couple of months would be worth it. For this experience, worth it. But a couple of years? A couple of decades? Or just some eroding of ones energy? "A little" she repeated. "Could you be a bit more specific? A little rather depends on your point of view. A day would be little to me, but death to a butterfly. You - ah - catch my meaning?"

GM Professor Armitage agreed, so the three of them started the hellish trudge through the waters (And the solids that floated within) against the flow. It was unpleasant to say the least. After just a few minutes, the sweeping beams of the Professors headlights caught a pair of red eyes glinting. A rat. A large rat, walking on the ceiling of the sewer. Who spoke. "What are you idiots doing down here?" it said, nibbling the air in front of him. "We dont get many visitors down here, we dont..."

Thanks Fox - 3 PP Spare so put them into skills and reworked skills - I have double checked but it probably needs Fox checking too Corrected grapple and other format stuff.

Pitch "Sounds cool. Real cool for smuggling in contraband to schools. Not that that ever happened at my school. And it would have been a bad thing if it happened, which it didn't." A thought struck her. "Hey, I'm going to call you Featherweight. That sounds cool, right? The feathers, and you hurly heavy things? At least, till you come up with something cooler!" Pitch turned her attention to the six attempted escapees. "That doesn't sound good. I wonder what they want? Did they say? I mean, apart from escaping and swallowing men into their body. Which is very not cool..." She turned to Featherweight (as she had named the hero) and Betsy. "What do we know about this Profanorum? Anything? I mean, other than it has a cool latin name..."

Spore Spore walked by Mz Grue's side, in her own rather less flamboyant outfit: A medieval farmer, complete with (fake) scythe. She regretted the papermache scythe. It was light, but cumbersome. And she had too much to do with taking photographs. "Smile, Daphne! Now growl! Now fire your phaser!" Daphne was making excellent photographs, and was, in Harper's mind, sure to win the best outfit of Claremont competition that Harper had decided would feature in the school magazine. Alongside her photographs. "Damn, you really do look amazing..." she muttered, studying the latest photograph on her digital camera. "I mean, how do you do it? It's like you walked off the set of the show... just... better than the show, to be honest. Like a real alien!" She gave a knowing wink. There were too many people around in the crowds to speak openly (or at least, loudly) of superheroics, magic and aliens. And so many fantastic costumes on display. Snap - snap - snap. More excellent photographs! "Now all we need is a medieval roast pig with an apple stuffed in its mouth!" she said, licking her lips. "Roasted in honey, or something. Anyone see anything exotic to eat?"

Snakebite "Then I hope it spins forever," said Cassandra, not at all reassured by the Yeti's explanation. "Or at least until the.. .what did you call them? the uplifters? at least until they return. And when they do, give me a call." She flashed a glance to the Professor. "I mean, you do have cellphones or something, right? Or do you communicate by thaumatological etherwaves? Sounds like something you might need an... ethernet cable for!" Groaning at her own joke, she turned back to the Yeti. "But I would like to turn the wheel. If that's ok. I mean, as long as it not considered a gift?" she said, exercising due prudence. "We can consider it an offer on my part, perhaps? Or doing my duty to the cosmos. And if that sits well enough, then you can tell me about the uplifters whilst we get to the wheel of destiny..."

Snakebite Something about this place - it was like an itch. Not wrong, just itchy. Maybe she was allergic to this place; to much peace was, for Cassandra Crow, a discontent. She would not stay, it would be a prison. But for others? Maybe it was a contentment. Cassandra Crow would never be content with being content. One thing she did want to know, however. "This wheel," she asked. "What is its purpose? You sound like you have some purpose here, keeping the wheel turning, but what is it? Simply a symbol, a ritual, its purpose merely to provide purpose? Or does it serve some other function? Keeping the time of the universe flowing properly?" "And if it comes to that, how do you keep it moving? And what would happen if you failed? Just asking as I am quite attached to the nature of the universe and would hate to see it stop. Although I imagine if time stopped I would never be aware of it. Perhaps it has stopped several times already."

GM "Ho ho ho!" said Pudgeball, pressing his stomach with both hands so to expel a half genuine laugh. "Yes indeed, beautiful misery. I can see you are quite the wit. May I offer you a drink?" he said, grabbing a glass of cheap champagne from the counter. And drinking it. "Oh ho ho! I meant that for you! ho ho! must be my nerves? Can I drink you an offer?" he repeated in a mangled garble. He swiped another glass, shoving it almost under the Dreamers nose. He raised his head to the other five browsers. "Ladies and gentlemen... If I may be so bold as to ask for your valuable attention for one minute?" The slight drowse in his voice told the Dreamer that the champagne bubbles had hit his brain. "In the back room I have a new selection! Debut! For your esteemed eyes only. If you would be so good to follow me..." The lone security guard rolled his eyes but kept otherwise professional. He looked bored already.

Bloody Mess "Hey, a wizard! Like in those films! The ones with that snotty nosed kid and that annoying girl!" said Bloody Mess, very impressed with the magic words Blackstaff had spoken. The lightning and sparks were cool, of course, but real magic words? Now that was the business! "My fists are magic, too! Watch this!" he said, puffing out his chest and cracking his knuckles. Despite the slowness of his brain, Freddy knew how to fight - straight up boxing, laced with dirty street fighting. One - two, weave, one - one - two. A little bit of a dance, and he had found the right angle to release a mighty blow from righty, each knuckle keen to deliver a KO!

Jump/Run to Anarchilles and punch, unshifted! 20! So if that hits, a DC 20 Tough Damage and back to the old DC 16 Fort Nauseate

ooc for This

GM Saturday 21st September, Early Afternoon The art of the Byron Gallery was, as one might imagine, Byronesque. Vivid, 18th and 19th century classical, with, the owner (a Mr Winston Pudgeball) would say "a modern twist". The art itself hovered around the "just above average mark", with some excellent pieces, some mediocre ones, and everything in between. Rich landscapes, clouds, romantic heroes and heroines on Parisian streets suffering nobly for their art, tortured by a sensitive nature, or perhaps by alcohol and consumption. A half dozen people sauntered around the displays, accompanied by Mr Pudgeball, a sweaty, rotund and tall man, with thick glasses and a physique that seemed to have a kind of muscular fat to it. He was enthusiastic, nervous, and very keen for people to buy the over priced art on display. He tried to ply every browser with a glass of cheap rose, and chocolate muffins (that did not match). Despite his vaguely irritating manner, he genuinely did like the art, and genuinely knew his art. He sauntered around Adrianna Lindell like a fly around manure. Pudgeball was a young man - maybe thirty - and without the glasses and without the excess of five, maybe six, stone, he would have been moderately attractive. A bit old for Adrianna, mayhap, but still, she had the looks and he was but a man. And not that old. "Quite the... ah beautiful melancholy about this piece, don't you think?" he said, fawning over Absinthe in Paris, by Rene DeSaens. "Makes one appreciate the delights of modern sensibilities?" There was nothing odious or pest like about Pudgewell. He was making polite conversation with an attractive set of... eyes. For art.

Snakebite "Minor problems?" Cassandra had a hunch they were not minor, even if the Professor looked jovial. "Quite the treasure trove you have here, Professor. From an academic point of view. Possibly a spiritual one too, although I imagine for man of your dedication the two are entwined." She looked at the Yeti. "Can anyone see his research? Can it be taken out of this temple?" she asked, although she rather suspected the answer would be no. "This place is a secret, yes? But why so? Does it have any threats?" Under her breath, she whispered to the Professor in Latin... "Are you in danger? do you wish to stay here?"

Pitch "I like your style," said Pitch giving Betsy a wink. "Yes kids, its very important you stay in school and don't cause trouble. And not sneak out to smoke cigarettes and drink alcohol and listen to death metal in a stolen car driving above the speed limit in a desert highway." Pitch got off her motorcycle. Not fast. It was evident, despite all the smoke and bombastic ripped jeans, black converse, that she had a limp. When she turned, the twins caught sight of a intricate tattoo up and down her spine, up the nape of her neck to her sacrum, peeking out from the top and tail of her t shirt. A tattoo of demons and angels dancing and fighting, and possibly something else. "You kids... Claremont, right? If we are going to go blasting demons and ghouls, best know what you two can do. I'm guessing its not levitating citrus fruit or growing twenty extra fingers. I head there was a kid who did that. She's a great guitar player but not much use in a scrap..."

Captain Cosmos A cold sweat hit Buddy's brow. He wasn't Captain Cosmos anymore. He was exposed. Buddy Brand, Newcaster, Anchorman. Good old dependable Buddy Brand. Not any more. He was revealed! Perhaps... perhaps these armoured soldiers... perhaps they wont tell? I can make a deal? If I play nicely? What do they want? It was a hope. A longshot hope, but he would take it. Find out how they knew, how far the news had spread. It was possible, just faintly possible, he could put this back together again. He forced his spine straight. "Sure," he said, with a merry salute. "I am happy to help!" He gave a smile. A weak one, but the best he could do. Hands on hips, to project some kind of confidence (that was not there) and lack of threat, he floated into the air and proceeded to follow them, capitulating to their every demand.

GM Doctor North staggered over to the comms. "Terrifica, this is North. Never mind me. Never mind Synth... that scientist has managed to create weapons. A modified, primitive clone of Synth, loaded up with a concoction of zoom and max He paused for breath, his flesh still cold, his mind fighting the hypothermia. "An army of infiltrators, set to copy anyone. They get into place, the drug capsule bursts, and they go on a killing frenzy. Combined with superior strength and reflexes, they are an almost perfect assassination tool. Can you imagine if OVERTHROW, or any other two-bit terrorist group gets a hold of one..." He shook his head at the thought. "The only consolation is that the clones can't handle the stress of the drugs. They expire, explode, in less than a minute. Quite clever of our scientist really. She makes sure there is always a demand..."